


Things Get Interesting on Fridays

by arosynose



Series: every day getting closer to you [5]
Category: The Avengers (2012), Thor (2011)
Genre: Bruce finally makes an appearance, F/M, Jane is really growing on me though, also Tony Stark is sassy and lacks regard for common courtesy, oh lawd I hope this makes sense, or any kind of boundaries really, or the difference between personal and private life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-26
Updated: 2012-06-18
Packaged: 2017-11-06 01:13:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/413083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arosynose/pseuds/arosynose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce has been having some strange dreams lately.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bruce has these dreams, see

**Author's Note:**

> I know this has been primarily Hulk/Darcy, but bear with me! Bruce needed to make his appearance sooner or later, and it's already Friday. I'd say it's 'later' by now.
> 
> Another multi-part-er. Not sure how many chapters it'll be this time.

Bruce has been having some strange dreams lately. They’re recurring, and the only previous recurring dream he’s had was of him transforming during sex with Betty and killing her. Which had been a complete nightmare, and afterwards he’d always woken up on the verge of Hulking out, pulse racing and cold sweat covering his body. That dream had lasted for weeks, not every day, but often enough for him to go to sleep scared out of his mind every night. It took extensive mental training and meditation to rid his mind of that nightmare.

These new recurring dreams aren’t nightmares. On the contrary; they’re anything but. They’re always soft around the edges, like a TV show from the sixties during romantic scenes, and there are two other constants. Bruce is always in the body of the Other Guy, looking out from his eyes, and he is always interacting with a beautiful young woman. She’s exactly the same, every time—it’s almost eerie, how perfectly her face and curvaceous body carry over from dream to dream. And she’s always smiling at him and touching his arms. Er, the Other Guy’s arms. In any case, she never shows even a trace of fear. Instead, she actively seeks out physical contact with him. Even though he’s giant and green.

There’s no sound in the dreams, but he likes to imagine her voice as being low and playful, and her laugh as bright and jingling. She talks and laughs often during the dreams, and Bruce tends to wake up with a warm feeling wherever she’s touched him last. The one time she’d kissed the corner of his mouth, he’d woken up feeling like his entire face was on fire. And there’s always an accompanying ache in his chest, a sense of longing that he can never place. Even the Other Guy is quieter after the dreams. More peaceful.

So, yeah, they’re definitely good dreams.

Unfortunately, the amount of time Tony spends bothering him in the lab seems directly proportional to the frequency of Bruce’s dreams. Which is to say, although the Other Guy is becoming more and more passive in the mornings, Bruce himself is increasingly aggravated in the mornings. Afternoons are even worse, because by that time whatever spell the dreams cast on the Other Guy has worn off, and they’re both just pissed as hell at Tony’s incessant prodding. Constant use of breathing exercises is the only thing that stands between Tony and a walloping smackdown from the Other Guy.

“So, Banner, what’s your type?” Tony asks, on this particular morning. “Buxom babes?” _Breathe in, hold it, breathe out. Breathe in, hold it, breathe out._ “Blondes, redheads? Brunettes?”

“I’m trying to catabolize this reaction, please leave me alone,” Bruce says, tone perfectly level.

“Me, I like girls of all shapes and sizes,” Tony says, circling the lab table. “But legs are what really gets me. Have you seen Pepper’s legs?” He whistles, and Bruce grits his teeth. “I don’t picture you as a legs guy, though, Banner. I see you as more of a tits and ass kinda guy. The more the merrier, am I right?”

An image comes to mind of the girl from his dreams, wearing loose pajamas that still do nothing to hide her come-hither hips and ample breasts. His mouth is suddenly very, very dry, and a low grumble comes from the Other Guy, at the back of his mind. Bruce swallows, hard.

“Of course, there’s that whole problem you have with the rising heart rate,” Tony says, tapping a pen against his palm. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but having sex with you could prove to be a life-threatening experience.”

Bruce doesn’t correct him.

“But,” Tony says, and Bruce really don’t like the mischievous lilt to his voice, “if the Big Guy was just as willing to get it on, and could prevent himself from smashing the lucky lady in the process, your problem would be solved?”

Bruce stares at him. Just stares and stares. He’s pretty sure his expression is frozen somewhere between confusion and horror, and the Other Guy is growling louder and louder, pushing forward like a rising tide within Bruce’s brain. Bruce draws in a deep, deep breath, and takes off his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“Wouldn’t be able to do missionary,” Tony continues, because when you are Tony Stark, personal boundaries and shame do not exist. “But there’s still loads of other stuff you could try. There’s this site I could show you—”

“ _Stop_ ,” Bruce chokes out.

Tony throws up his hands. “Just sayin’, Big Guy.”

Bruce isn’t sure how long he stands perfectly still in front of his experiment, just focusing on breathing, but when he lifts his head Tony is gone, and his enzymes have failed to catabolize once again.

He thinks briefly about taking a nap, just for the possibility of seeing dream-girl and being calmed by her presence. But then he reminds himself that she doesn’t exist, that she’s just a figment of his lonely, affection-starved imagination. And he goes back to work.

 

*

 

Bruce wakes up on a Friday with the taste of raspberry lip gloss still in his mouth, and the feel of warm lips against his lingering in his mind. His head is swimming. He’s dizzy, but only with happiness.

And then he looks towards the window, and sunlight cuts through the cone cells in his eyes to sear away the image of his dream girl.

Because it was only a dream.

Of course it was.

Tony’s waiting for him downstairs, sitting at the bar with a miniature tablet in one hand and a mug full of what is no doubt bourbon-laced coffee in the other.

“Sleep well?” he chirps, and it’s with great effort that Bruce restrains a bone-deep sigh.

“Fine,” he says, filling his own mug with tea. “Weather’s nice.”

“Uh-huh,” Tony says absently, and Bruce can feel eyes on him. But when he turns around, Tony’s facing down, scrolling through data displays on his tablet.

“Bruce!” Pepper makes her entrance with a cheerful smile and a portfolio under her arm. Bruce can’t help what remember what Tony said in the lab the other day, and his eyes are drawn to her legs despite his best efforts to keep them on her face.

She does have nice legs, Bruce decides, after some careful consideration. They’re long, and slim, and look flexible, which Tony probably loves (and that is not something Bruce wants to think about, no no _no_ ), but Bruce can only appreciate them from an objective, aesthetic standpoint. He can’t imagine her legs being very soft for him to hook his arm under, and they’re so long they’d only get in the way of him carrying her. Er, the Other Guy carrying her. And her other, er, assets? Not really taking his breath away either.

Bruce sips his tea, watching Pepper and Tony make googly eyes at each other over the rim of his mug, and takes a moment to think about how sad it is that his entire love life revolves around a girl who doesn’t exist outside of his REM cycles.

“Construction’s finally done,” Pepper says, breaking Bruce from his thoughts. The announcement isn’t mostly for him, but she wouldn’t have said it so loudly if it wasn’t at least in part meant for his ears.

“No more sweaty construction workers?” Tony asks, expression open and hopeful.

“No more sweaty construction workers,” Pepper says, sliding closer. “In the elevators or anywhere else.”

“Good. I was starting to feel like a member of the Village People.”

Pepper rolls her eyes at Tony, but she’s smiling.

Bruce is starting to feel overwhelmingly alone. He slips out, unnoticed, to his lab, and once inside, he sinks down into the nearest chair to take off his glasses and rub his face. He’d been perfectly fine before the Avengers, before all of this, but now…with Tony and Pepper, and now with that woman in his dreams…

It’s hard. It’s hard being alone, being the perpetual third wheel. Watching Tony and Pepper fall into step together, like two halves of a whole, like two single-stranded DNA pieces forming a full double-helix, twisting and turning and complementing each other perfectly. Like matching chromatids, joined at their centromere. Bruce kind of figures he’s a nucleoid, a messy jumble of genetic material floating aimlessly, trapped in a never ending circle. There’s no matching loop for him. Not in real life, anyway.

Bruce lets himself have that bone-deep sigh now. Then he takes an even deeper breath, so deep his lungs hurt with the strain, and bends over his microscope. Maybe today the proteins will cooperate.


	2. Darcy Lewis is On A Mission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's too-early on a Friday morning, and Darcy Lewis has some serious shit to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously, this chapter has been WAY too long in coming. Stupid real life...

Darcy starts off Friday morning feeling pissed as hell.

She wakes up on the couch, passed out after a whopping round of Disney drinking games. The DVD player’s long since turned off, automatically saving power, but the TV’s still going strong. The noises coming from it sound like some kind of news report. The voices sure are annoying enough for it to be, anyway. She cracks a lid to look at the pictures on the screen, and is just in time to catch the tail end of a report about the latest victory for the Avengers. The heavily made-up female news anchor is now talking about how, after the battle, the Hulk had been unable to calm down—something about people screaming and police getting scared and trigger-happy—and was subdued with force. Namely, tranquilizers. Shot from his _own teammate’s_ goddamn quiver.

So, yeah, Darcy is pretty fucking pissed. She’s downright _enraged_. At _everything_. Because how is this fair? How is it fair that the Hulk gets angry when people shoot at him, so they just shoot him some more? How is it fair that instead of celebrating with his team, he’s tranqed and shipped off to SHIELD and Banner, where he gets locked up? How is it in _any way_ fair that someone who is not just a person with human rights, but a hero to boot, responsible for _saving humanity_ on countless occasions, gets treated like a mindless beast? Darcy’s met the guy. Hell, she’s kissed the guy. She knows perfectly well that under the green skin and muscles there’s a brain that knows what people think, knows that he will never fit in or be accepted. And they treat him like he doesn’t know what he’s doing. Like he’s not just reacting the only way he knows how. The only way he _can_.

If society had a face, Darcy would punch it. As it is, she’ll settle for the next best thing.

Jane is in the kitchen, brewing coffee and being unfairly not-hungover, and Darcy would probably care more about the injustice of that if there weren’t bigger injustices to be righteously indignant about.

Darcy tumbles from the couch in her rush and bangs her head on the floor in the process, further jarring her already-jarred brain and only succeeding in making herself angrier. By the time she’s back on her feet, she’s _fuming_ , teeth bared in an ugly snarl and fists clenched at her sides.

“Something the matter?” Jane calls from the kitchen, and Darcy can practically _hear_ her eyebrow raise.

“ _Numerous things,_ ” Darcy hisses. “Jane. I need you to come with me.”

Jane’s eyebrow twitches even higher. “Where are you going so early in the morning?”

“SHIELD,” Darcy grinds out, throwing on a coat. “I need you to get me in with your science.”

“What?”

“You know, your—the—you can get me in!” Darcy sputters, still struggling with brain and motor functions that aren’t _find Banner and kill him._

“Explain,” Jane says levelly, and Darcy wants to throw up her hands and walk out the door, but she needs Jane’s security clearance.

“Hulk was just tranqed and they’re going to lock him up again and _it’s not fair_!”

Jane sighs and puts her coffee down. “I can’t really argue with that. Mostly because it was completely incoherent. I still don’t understand your attraction to the Hulk, but…okay.”

“‘Okay?’” Darcy blinks. “Really? You’ll do it?”

“You’d do the same for me, wouldn’t you?”

“And more,” Darcy swears.

Jane nods, and her expression turns grim. “If they were treating Thor this way…Well, let’s just say I can imagine how you feel.”

Darcy saves the fist-pump for later and hugs Jane instead. “Gracias, chica.”

“What are bosses for?” Jane says, and Darcy huffs, but it’s with a smile.

 

*

 

In the aftermath of Loki’s attack on downtown Manhattan, SHIELD has seen fit to set up headquarters fairly close by. Possibly for the purpose of babysitting New York, more likely for the purpose of babysitting the Avengers, who have since by and large moved into the upper floors of the new Stark building. SHIELD HQ is a secret known only to a select few. That select few includes only agents, Council members, women whose boyfriends are in the Avengers, and the best friends of those women, who get them drunk and extract said secret from them during their inebriation.

Darcy and Jane hit the SHIELD building like a well-oiled douchebag-hunting machine. Jane masterfully navigates the security system with her clearance. Darcy masterfully sneaks in behind her, trying to simultaneously go unnoticed and act like she owns the place. The routine gets them surprisingly far—to the elevator, in fact. Darcy had been half-expecting to be stopped at the front door, so slipping inside and watching the steel doors close in front of her is a huge weight off her chest.

“The labs are on the upper floors,” Jane says, pressing one of the many buttons. Darcy’s fingers twitch with the urge to push _all the buttons_ , but she valiantly restrains herself. Priorities, Darcy. Banner first, buttons later.

It gets a whole lot easier to focus once she’s off the elevator with all its shiny buttons and is on the hunt for the elusive Banner once more. She’s taking wide strides, shoulders firmly set, and wearing a face that means _business_. Banner is _so_ going to get it.

Darcy is so concentrated on glaring into every lab she passes in hopes of finding Banner that she is completely unaware of the man walking through the hallway towards her until it’s too late. Her shoulder hits his, and she goes careening backwards. If she’d been wearing flats, she might have had a chance at staying upright, but the spindly heels looked more SHIELD-y, so Darcy goes down like a house of cards. Angry, vengeful cards.

She gets to her feet in seconds, brimming with righteous fury. She’s got enough of it to fuel an army. Or a Hulk.

What she’s not expecting is for her assailant to be a mussy-haired moptop with scruff and a wrinkled shirt. He’s like a puppy, only cuter and in human form. And did she mention cuter?

Wait, no. _Focus, Darcy._

“Hey. Do you know where Banner is?” she asks briskly, crossing her arms.

The man fumbles with his glasses, and blinks up at her a few times once they’re on. Then his eyes widen comically, and the puppy-dog effect increases tenfold. His mouth opens and closes without a sound.

“Hello?” She allows her foot one impatient tap. “I’m looking for Dr. Banner. It’s kind of important.”

“You’re…you’re looking for Dr. Banner,” the man says, faintly, looking like he might keel over. Darcy understands that it may have been a while since his last human interaction—let alone one with an attractive female—but she doesn’t have time for one dorky scientist’s social deficiencies.

“Yes. Where is he.”

“Why?” His voice still has that airy quality, like he’s not completely grounded in reality just yet. Behind the glasses, his eyes are unfocused. Darcy wonders absently if he accidentally-on-purpose got stoned in one of the labs.

“I have to talk to him about something,” Darcy’s all but glaring at him now. “If you could just point me in the right direction, that’d be great.”

The man keeps staring at her— _through_ her— _whatever_ , and Darcy’s about to chew his head off when he finally says, “It’s me.”

“Sorry?” The words aren’t quite clicking in her head.

“I’m Bruce Banner.”

Darcy feels numb.

She’s had a lot of expectations about this moment. The moment she’d finally meet the villainous Dr. Banner. And now, now that it’s actually _happening_ …well, Darcy’s feeling a little underwhelmed. _This_ is the guy who’s locking her Hulk up? This fluffy-haired, puppy-faced guy? He looks like he wouldn’t hurt a fly.

And then, slowly, comes the rage. It starts low, simmering, but then the white-hot anger comes bubbling up, boiling over, and all Darcy can think about is how _dare_ he. How _dare_ he lock up Hulk? How _dare_ he bump into her as if he hasn't a care in the world? _How dare he look so_ innocent?

Darcy can think of no better response to this man’s lies and trickery than to snap her leg up and deliver a crushing blow to Dr. Banner’s most vulnerable organs.


	3. Bruce is hurt, Bruce is very much hurt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turns out, boots to the groin are extremely amusing to the Hulk. Bruce has no idea what to make of the situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ugh oh gosh this feels like crap to me but it's late and I don't wanna make you guys wait forever again
> 
> DOES ANYONE WANT TO BETA MY CRAP AFHJFSJKFSKGHSGSFF

Bruce Banner may not be _completely_ sure what just happened, but he’s about 99.99% certain that it involved the girl from his dreams kicking him in the balls. His balls support this hypothesis. Or, rather, the pain he’s feeling in them does.

Presently, Bruce is lying on the floor, curled up around his possibly-no-longer-functioning testicles. His dream girl is saying something, Bruce is pretty sure, but it’s all kind of a wash in his ears, drowned out by the Other Guy’s eager roars. The Other Guy seems almost _happy_ , and isn’t that weird. Normally, Bruce would try to analyze that further, but _normally_ Bruce isn’t experiencing sensory overload. 

“—a person too! Just because he’s big and green and doesn’t use 2-dollar words like some fancy-pants scientist—”

Yes, that is definitely Bruce’s dream girl. Not just speaking, but yelling. At him. Which doesn’t make sense because Bruce has no idea what he’s done wrong. Is dreaming about people offensive, now?

“—keep him locked up like some kind of _animal_ , which, I mean, I’m all for animal rights but _you get what I mean!_ ”

Her voice cuts out, then, and Bruce takes the moment both to collect himself and take in the sight of her face. It’s a little blurry because his eyes are kind of still watering, but she’s still infinitely more breathtaking in person than she is in-dream. Her lips are redder, her eyes are bluer, her hair is softer…Well, softer-looking, anyway. But he’s pretty sure it’ll feel really, really soft, if he ever gets to touch it.

Bruce is starting to suspect he may be in some kind of shock.

This is supported by his subsequent blurting of “What’s your name, dream girl?”

Dream Girl’s jaw drops, then shuts and swings to the side behind pursed lips. That’s definitely a judgmental look she’s giving him. Her foot also seems to be raising, and while the Other Guy finds this both amusing and… _pleasing_ …Bruce does not. He rolls out of the way of a descending boot and, once he’s sure she’s not going to try to attack him again in the immediate future, gets to his feet.

“Okay, wait, hold on a second,” Bruce says, trying not to sway in place too much. “Why—what did I do to deserve this?”

If anything, she just looks madder. Which is kind of frustrating, actually. And confusing. The Other Guy likes it, though, and Bruce briefly contemplates running away from this whole situation now that he’s regaining some semblance of cognitive normality. Well, as normal as cognition can be when it involves having a giant, angry, _green_ secondary personality.

“You’re keeping my—my friend—my boyfr—my _Hulk_ captive.”

Bruce thinks, for a split second, that he’s still loopy with pain and is just hearing things. But no, Dream Girl is glaring as resolutely as ever, shapely legs planted in a wide stance, arms crossed over her bust. Bruce blinks and shakes his head a little, but she’s still there.

“Sorry, did you say… _your_ Hulk?”

“I did.” Not for the first time, Bruce questions whether this is indeed the real life. Because it’s shaping up to be a lot more like one of his REM dreams, albeit with more violence directed towards his groin and less physical presence from the Other Guy.

“How is he yours, exactly?”

Her eyes narrow to vicious slits. “We’re…it’s complicated. And _none_ of your business.”

“Actually, I can assure you that it most certainly is.”

“No, it’s really _not_. Now let me see him.”

The Other Guy likes this idea, surging forward and making Bruce grit his teeth. “I don’t think that’s smart right now.”

Dream Girl snorts. “Do you even know the guy? He would never hurt me.”

“I know him very well,” Bruce grinds out. “Better than I’d like, actually.”

“I doubt that.”

 _ **Darcy now!**_ the Other Guy roars, and Bruce takes off his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. There’s no way this is actually happening.

“Show me where Hulk is, or I will render you anatomically incapable of reproduction.”

Bruce gives a strangled laugh at that, and it’s filled out with a booming roar from the Other Guy as he rips forward, past Bruce’s defenses.

The last thing Bruce is consciously aware of is Darcy craning her neck up at him as his bones shift and muscles stretch, her mouth forming a perfect, plush “O”.

 

*

 

Whatever Darcy had been expecting, it wasn’t this. But, all things considered, it’s not a bad turnout for the day. Hulk is there with her, grinning and unharmed, and Darcy is confused as hell, sure, but mostly just glad her sort-of-boyfriend is okay.

“ **Darcy smash Banner,** ” Hulk says, positively beaming, and Darcy smiles and wraps her arms as far around him as they’ll go.

“I certainly did,” she says, then draws back, keeping one hand braced against the warm green skin. “So, what was all that about this Banner guy keeping you locked up? I mean, I charge in here, guns ablaze, and you’re…not-very-locked-up.”

“ **Hulk locked in head**.” He gestures with one thick finger to his skull. “ **Banner keep Hulk inside.** ”

“Oh.” Darcy blinks. “So does that mean you felt it when I kicked Banner in the ‘nads?”

“ **Darcy strong** ,” Hulk says appreciatively, and Darcy brings him in for another hug.

“Hey, big guy, can you take me on a tour of this place? I’ve never been.”

Hulk shrugs. “ **Hulk not know Tower. Banner know Tower.** ”

“Oh. Okay.” Darcy thinks a moment and comes up dry. “Well, then what d’you want to do?”

Hulk grins, and bounds out through the plate glass windows.


End file.
